


all I want

by zeldalookslonely



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-08-09 23:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldalookslonely/pseuds/zeldalookslonely
Summary: “Do you want to be a father?” Jake asks, drunk, trembling, on the night Charles’s divorce becomes final.  He’s laid out flat in the space Charles imagines would be occupied by a coffee table, if Charles had a coffee table.  If all his possessions hadn’t turned out to be Eleanor’s, instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for vgault883 on tumblr! 
> 
> Title from early Tom Waits:
> 
> _I want you, you, you  
All I want is you, you, you  
All I want is you_

“Do you want to be a father?” Jake asks, drunk, trembling, on the night Charles’s divorce becomes final. He’s laid out flat in the space Charles imagines would be occupied by a coffee table, if Charles had a coffee table. If all his possessions hadn’t turned out to be Eleanor’s, instead.

“I don’t even have furniture,” Charles says, waves his hands wildly, “I live in my ex-wife’s basement and she owns all my things. _All_ my things.” He gestures to his crotch to make sure Jake understands what he’s saying, and _okay_, maybe he’s drunk too.

“But do you _want_ to? Be a father? Is it…,” Jake trails off, but twists his head to make eye contact with Charles, pinning him down, exposed, nothing but a broken butterfly for Jake to examine.

“Yes, I want to. I think about it a lot. But Eleanor-”

“Forget Eleanor,” Jake says with sudden energy. “You don’t need her for that.”

“Maybe not,” Charles says, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to look as if he’s someone who doesn’t have Eleanor’s voice playing on repeat in his head: _I don’t want a baby with you, I don’t love you, I don’t love you, I don’t love you_. He can almost see the words written in the concrete walls, stark in the bald fluorescent lighting. He coughs. “Do you? Want to be a father?”

Jake is silent for a long moment, then says, “I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine. I can’t imagine passing on my DNA. Creating another human being. What if I turn into my father?”

“As if you could,” Charles says lightly. Jake’s eyes widen and Charles shuffles closer with no grace at all to grab Jake’s wrists, gently, gently; to shackle Jake to the importance of these words, to the sheer impossibility of him being anything like his father. “You could never,” he says, “never ever, you could never.”

“Okay,” Jake says. “Okay.”

…

It’s years before Jake brings the subject of children up again.

“Vivian was old, though,” he says, and Charles’s face must be very expressive, because he rushes to add, “Not like that! I just mean… she was older. Older than you. Probably… too late to have kids?”

“There are other ways to have kids,” Charles says severely, “and besides, she and I talked about that. She didn’t want children. Never had.” They’re at Shaw’s bar, and Jake has been antsy all evening, fingers tapping and eyes darting this way and that; Charles has had about enough. Vivian ended their engagement forever ago, and he has no interest in talking about her since he’s moved on. “What does it matter?”

“Well, you want kids,” Jake says, palms in the air, questioning.

“Yeah, I’d still like them someday.”

“Then why were you with her at all?” Jake asks, and he looks so earnestly puzzled that Charles takes a minute to consider the question carefully.

“I fell in love with her. I knew from the start she didn’t want kids, and I accepted it.”

“So you just gave up on kids?”

“Jakey, kids aren’t a guarantee in any relationship. I’d like to have kids, but I loved Vivian. I wasn’t about to give up on what we had for some hypothetical child. Vivian existed, and I loved her.”

“I don’t know whether or not I want kids,” Jake says quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid, then, “We should go out.”

“What?”

“We could, maybe. Go out. If you wanted to.”

“You…” says Charles hesitantly, until Jake’s face falls almost imperceptibly and he hastens to gather his shattered thoughts. “Obviously I want to. Obviously. Obviously, obviously, obviously. Obviously.”

Jake laughs, and laughs; his eyes are wide and bright, luminescent in the dim light, and he looks so pleased it makes Charles catch his breath. Jake reaches out til his hand hovers over Charles’s on the bar, and Charles supposes Jake has been brave enough for one day, so he grabs Jake’s hand, lightning-quick, and squeezes. Pulls Jake off his stool, closer, closer. Wraps his arms around him. Breathes him in.

“I like this,” Jake says, and he sounds almost delirious; it’s gorgeous, _precious_. “I like you.”

“I like you,” Charles says, “I didn’t know you’d want to -- I like you. Of course I-,”

“Same,” Jake says, fingers inching up Charles’s shirt sleeves, “same, you can-,”

“Let’s go home. Please.”

“Yes. Please.”

…

The Boyle cousins adore Jake. 

“I love you, Jake,” says Cousin Hannah at their first meeting, plopping baby Tabitha in his arms before turning away, walking across the room to talk to Cousin Sam.

“Um,” Jake says, wide-eyed, cradling Tabitha roughly to his chest and shifting rapidly from foot to foot. “I love you too,” he calls after Hannah gamely, and Charles’s heart might actually explode.

“Bah,” Tabitha says, muffled.

“Okay,” Jake says, “okay.” He maneuvers little Tabitha in his arms until she looks more comfortable, and calms his frantic shifting to a more subdued rocking. He grins at Charles.

Charles swallows dryly. “You’re a natural.”

“Bah bah bah bah bah,” Tabitha says.

“You’re telling me,” Jake says.

…

Jake babysits the Sarge’s girls every other Friday night.

“Godfather duty,” he explains, and asks Charles to come along one night.

In truth, Charles is an intruder here; little Ava in particular views him as the harshest of interlopers. She grips Jake’s hand, glaring at Charles, resplendent and fierce in her fluffy pink princess dress.

“Swing,” she enunciates clearly.

Jake grins. “Swing it is,” he says, and then, to Charles: “You’ll be in here with the twins?”

“Of course,” Charles says, “I’m definitely not intimidated by the fact that I’ll be outnumbered.”

Jake gives him a soft look and presses a quick kiss to his lips; Charles doesn’t know how he dares with Ava radiating her displeasure beside him. 

“You’ll do great, Detective Boyle,” Jake says, and Ava relaxes a bit, looking up at Charles with some mild interest for the first time. “I’m so glad you could take time out from arresting bad guys to be here tonight!” 

“Hm,” Ava says, and Jake laughs, walks her through the kitchen and out to the backyard where the swing-set presumably resides.

Charles finds Cagney and Lacey watching Moana in the family room, singing loudly, bouncing on the couch cushions with glee.

“Oh,” Charles says, “Maybe you guys shouldn’t be jumping on the couch?”

“Okay,” says Cagney-or-Lacey-in-pink, and continues jumping. _Oh no_.

”I’ll be Moana,” says Cagney-or-Lacey-in-stripes, “and Cagney can be Maui, and you can be the chicken!”

Charles thinks: _Lacey stripes Cagney pink Lacey stripes Cagney pink_, and, with great flair and commitment, clucks like a chicken.

The girls shriek in delight, racing around with, impossibly, even more enthusiasm.

“SPRINKLER!” Cagney-pink shouts, and the girls run outside, laughing as Charles gives chase.

By the end of the night, Charles is more exhausted than he’s ever been; he’s laid out on the couch watching the Moana DVD home screen repeat over and over. Jake is chipper, making rounds through the house, picking up toys and humming to himself.

“This is so much easier with both of us,” Jake says, and it hits Charles for the first time that Jake routinely babysits all three at once by himself.

“You’re the best, Jake,” Charles says, and he’s never meant it more.

…

Charles pins Jake to the bed, hands around his wrists, tongue to neck, heart in throat. “I want you so much,” he murmurs. “I want to-”

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” Jake says defensively, as if he’s having an entirely different conversation under entirely different circumstances.

“What,” Charles says.

“Kids!” Jake spits, “Kids, the whole _kids_ thing!”

“Kids,” repeats Charles blankly, reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that the next hour isn’t going to go the way he wanted; he releases Jake’s wrists, holds his hands up in a gesture of submission, tries to shuffle away gently.

Jake grips him by the thighs, keeps him close. “Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it,” Jake says, hisses, and Charles would be more offended if Jake didn’t look so lost.

“Jakey,” he says gently, “I don’t think I think about it nearly as often as you must think I do. I don’t even _think_ about it, really. Sometimes it crosses my mind, but it’s not like I… linger over it.”

“I know it’s been on your mind! You think I can’t tell that you’re holding back? Don’t forget that I’ve known you a long time!”

“You think I’m holding back?” asks Charles, who has not one but _two_ platinum engagement rings hidden in his underwear drawer and is actively considering a third, should his first two choices fail to impress.

“You don’t even say you’re in love with me!” Jake shouts, which is so ridiculously false that Charles can’t help getting angry.

“I say it all the time! I said ‘I love you’ this morning! Last night! Every day!”

“That’s not the same,” Jake says quietly, deflating. “You say it the Boyle way. You guys love everything.”

“I love you!” Charles says angrily, “I love you, I love you, I’m in love with you! I want to marry you, I want to watch your hair turn gray, I want to _touch_ your hair, I want to give you sour straws, I want to give you everything, _everything_; sometimes I look at you and I want to crawl inside you and fall asleep, and I know that’s a weird thing to say and I don’t care!”

Jake swallows, then moves with sudden precision, pushing Charles to sit against the headboard, and curling up with his head in Charles’s lap. He gropes for Charles’s hand and pushes it into his hair.

Charles sighs, strokes through Jake’s curls, _revels_ in them, tugs a little because he knows Jake will _squirm_, and it’s perfect, perfect. “Thank you.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jake says.

“I know that,” Charles says petulantly. “I thought we both knew.”

“Yeah, well-,”

“And you still think I’d leave someone I love so much for a kid who might never exist at all. You were honest with me from the start, which is all I needed; I know you’re not interested in having kids and I’m still so-,”

“I never said I’m not interested!”

Charles’s hand pauses in Jake’s hair and Jake makes a weak sound of protest, so he continues, clearing his throat. “Are you saying you are? Interested?”

“I’m interested, but I know it’s probably a bad idea.”

“Title of your sex tape?”

Jake gives a wild laugh and Charles scratches his scalp soothingly. “_Charles_.”

“Why is it a bad idea?”

“Think about it, _think_ about it, picture a little boy with your little face, in a little bow-tie, like a tiny little you but with better sneakers, and we’d have to keep him safe and make sure he’s always okay, and worry about him our whole lives. Keep him fed and try to make sure he grows into a good person. That doesn’t _terrify_ you?”

“Of course it does.”

“I don’t know how to get from ‘terrified’ to ‘let’s do it anyway’.”

“You don’t have to,” Charles says firmly, “I promise you, you don’t have to get anywhere you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” Jake says, slowly, maybe as much to himself as to Charles. “I want to. I do.”

Oh. “That’s… are you…?”

“Yeah. I… yeah.”

“Oh. Well. Take your time?” Charles says lamely, but Jake lights up and looks so soft and grateful that Charles doesn’t think he misstepped.

“So,” Jake says, stripping off his shirt with the air of someone changing the subject, stretching out on the bed next to Charles, wrists up, _on offer_, “You want to marry me?”

Charles is breathless, could cry, could live in this moment forever, says, “I want to _everything_ you.”

“Show me,” Jake says, low in his throat, “show me.”

…

Jake has been… _off_, for a few weeks. It’s been a lot of “_noice_” and “_toit_” followed by fake, nervous laughter and it all sounds a lot like_ I don’t love you, I don’t love you, I don’t love you_; it sounds a lot like_ I’m moving to Canada_, it sounds a lot like everything is slipping away. It sounds a lot like this past year hasn’t meant what Charles thought it meant.

So he picks up some good beer on his way home, bread, butter, sour straws, and when Jake gets home, they sit on the sofa together. 

“I’m not sure if-”

“I’ve been going to therapy,” Jake interrupts, speaking quickly, abrupt.

“I-- oh. What?”

“I wanted to sort myself out. My… damage. Or um, trauma? Before… a child? And I wanted to tell you, after I chose someone, but then I almost quit, then I didn’t, then it’d been a little while and it was like I kept this whole big secret without meaning to, and I didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t know how to hide it.”

Charles can’t think, is hurt, is touched, is relieved, is…

Jake stands, paces a line in front of Charles, back and forth. His hands are trembling. “I’m not myself, after. I’m not... I can’t…” He trails off, kneels, rests his head in Charles’s lap, clutches Charles’s hand.

Charles can read between the lines, can see the neediness in every movement, cannot possibly fathom how he’s missed this. He tugs until Jake is lying on the couch, head back in Charles’s lap, one of Charles’s hands in his hair, one under his shirt, on his chest, pressing into the rapid beat of his heart, he’s still here, still here.

“You’re still here with me,” Charles says, half-statement, half-question.

Jake nods, breath hitching, “We talked today - Dr. Walters and I, and she said, or, I mean, we talked about - how it doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Letting someone take care of me. Letting _you_ take care of me.” He gestures to Charles, to his soothing hands, to all the points of contact, to the closeness between them. “She said,” he says, then makes a frustrated noise. “She didn’t_ say_, she doesn’t just _say_ stuff, but we talked about… healing. And living while healing, and moving forward, and, and.”

“Shh,” Charles says, gently, “you don’t have to tell me, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not like that. I mean. We could. We could afford a two bedroom place, together? We could, start looking. Adoption. Or a surrogate. I want to. Move forward. I want to move forward.”

“I bought you a ring,” Charles says quickly. “I. It didn’t seem good enough. But you could. See if you like it.”

“I like it,” Jake says, and Charles jerks with shock.

“You found them?”

“No! No, of course not! I just… I’ll like it.”

“You… this is really what you want?” Charles asks, and now he’s the one trembling. “You have me, you know? This isn’t an all or nothing thing. You don’t have to…”

“I know what I want. I know what I want. I promise.” He scrambles up, pressing kisses to Charles’s cheeks, eyelids, forehead, lips, “I promise, I promise,” and unspoken is the _trust me, trust me, trust me_.

“I trust you,” Charles says, because all he can do is offer it freely, nodding too fervently, fingers biting too hard into Jake’s hips; he tips his head back; all he can do is let Jake bite along the line of his throat, marking, claiming.

“Let’s do this,” Jake says, “Lets do it all.”

“Yes,” Charles says, “Yes, yes, everything, I want everything you want, I want _everything_ with you.”

“You have it,” Jake says, and Charles closes his eyes, takes it at face value, lets it be that simple, that complicated, that perfect, that flawed. Human. Family. _Everything_. Everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Jacob “Dynamo” Peralta isn’t going to have any trouble explaining this to his husband. He’ll understand. Gina’s a terror. Coulda happened to anybody. He’d been five shots in. Rosa’d been egging him on. Mighta been a little overconfident.

He stretches out next to Charles on their bed. Tries to look innocent. “I may have been slightly overconfident,” he says, carefully steady, and he’s definitely coming off as sober. Definitely.

Charles looks up at him. Suspiciously. Suspicion on Charles is a crinkle between the eyes and a wrinkly eyebrow thing Jake can’t explain. “I like your wrinkles,” Jake says, and the wrinkles and crinkles meet in the middle. Jake grins at them.

“What did you do?”

“I lost a bet and we have to name her Regina,” he says, and hey -- what he lacks in finesse he makes up for with conciseness! Not the title of his sex tape! Not usually, anyway.

Charles stares.

“I really thought I could dunk this time,” Jake says mournfully.

“You bet our daughter’s name on your ability to dunk successfully for the first time ever?”

Jake sighs. Everything sounds like a bad idea when you say it all skeptically like that. He wishes he could remember Gina’s exact phrasing, which had been very convincing. Anyway. “Where exactly are you on the scale of charmed to angry?”

“Charmed-angry,” Charles says, and Jake grins widely. Much better than angry-charmed.

“That’s where I _thrive_, husband-mine!”

“Don’t I know it,” Charles says, and his lips are twitching which means it’s more like charmed-charmed.

“There’s a chance she won’t hold me to it,” Jake lies.

“Right, she’s known for being reasonable.”

Jake lets his hand creep up Charles’s shirt. Follows his hand with his face. “I really am sorry,” he says into the softness of Charles’s stomach, which is very nice. He could totally suffocate here and be happy about it.

“You are so drunk,” Charles says fondly.

“Sober-adjacent,” corrects Jake, then, lifting his head, “it means ‘queen’. Regina.”

“Regina Boyle-Peralta,” Charles says.

“We meet her in two months,” Jake says, and it feels heavy. “Is it weird to miss somebody who doesn’t even exist outside of a womb yet?”

“I hope not,” Charles says, but presses his face into Jake’s neck. Jake can totally feel him smiling which is amazing.

“I love you,” Jake says.

“I promised your mom we’d use Karen as the middle name,” Charles says quickly. A confession.

“You didn’t tell me?”

“She tricked me!”

“Alcohol?”

“Panini.”

Jake sits up. He’s a little dizzy. “How are we going to raise a daughter when we’re both completely out of our depth around the women in our life?”

“We’re going to fake it til’ we make it,” Charles says, with the air of one who has already given this subject much thought.

“Regina Karen Boyle-Peralta,” Jake says.

“I’m not that nervous,” Charles says. He’s gnawing on his lower lip.

“Me neither,” Jake says.

…

Cousin Lynette Boyle volunteered to be their surrogate. Jake worships her. Lynette is one of the least demonstrative Boyles he’s ever met, so he displays his worship with weekly pedicures and pint after pint of cappuccino ice cream (of which Charles disapproves). Charles was banished from these visits by week ten of the pregnancy; Lynette cited “invasive intensity” and Jake couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

“I’m so-”

“No thank yous!” Lynette barks, not for the first time.

“Yep! Yep.”

She sighs, rubs her belly. “She likes the ice cream. Anything cold gets her moving. Sometimes I guzzle ice water to make sure she’s okay in here.”

She looks worn, face drawn and tired, stretched uncomfortably on the sofa. Nobody could ever be worthy of the sacrifice she is making, growing their child like a beloved parasite in her body, soothing and nurturing with love and vitamins and doctor’s appointments and lullabies.

“I worry…” Jake says, and the truth is he worries too much, worries about everything; about Charles, about his daughter, about Lynette, about the squad, about parenthood, about being undeserving, about clipping tiny little fingernails. “I worry that I wouldn’t be willing to do this for you, you know, if the roles were reversed.”

“You mean if you had the functioning uterus and I was in want of an infant?” she asks, smiling, eyes rolling playfully.

“Yes,” he says, seriously.

She sighs at him, long suffering and gentle. “That’s okay. You’d be generous in some other way. We’re family, that’s what we do.”

…

Regina, squalling, is born into the world a month later. Seven pounds, three ounces. Nineteen inches long.

“She’s beautiful,” Charles sighs.

“She looks like a lizard,” Jake says.

“I forgot how small they are,” says Lynette. “How could I forget that?”

Regina shifts in Lynette’s arms, eyes closed, mouth open, a tuft of black hair curled over her forehead. Jake’s heart _aches_.

“She looks like a beautiful, slimy lizard,” Charles says, in awe, one hand gripping Jake’s and the other hovering over Regina’s tiny, tiny, tiny foot.

“Oh shit,” Jake says. “We’re a family. _We’re a family_.” He shakes his head, rakes a hand through his hair. “No, that doesn’t make sense. We were already a family. But--”

“I know,” Charles says. He plants a kiss on Lynette’s cheek and gingerly lifts the baby from her arms. “I know, Jake, I know.”

“To your neck,” instructs Lynette. “She needs skin to skin contact.” 

Regina snuffles into Charles’s neck like a natural and that’s Jake’s _husband and daughter_, standing there, and they’re both healthy and lovely and _here_.

“Oh shit,” Jake says again, grinning, and Charles grins back and Lynette laughs and Regina huffs in her sleep. And it’s the end, the end of some things, isn’t it? And it’s the middle of some others. And the beginning. The beginning of something. The beginning of something huge.

…

“I would cheerfully strangle you for five more minutes of sleep,” Jake says.

“I hope you’re talking to me and not the baby,” Charles says.

Jake groans, rubbing his eyes. “I did mean you, but now I feel kinda weird about it.”

“If I give you coffee, will you promise not to strangle me?”

“If you give me coffee, I won’t strangle you _today_,” Jake says, as if striking a hard bargain.

Regina rouses as Jake sips his coffee; she makes one small adorable noise, then screams far louder than it seems like someone so small should be able to manage. Charles swoops in to scoop her up, cooing, “Is someone three weeks old today? Is someone three weeks old?”

Jake feels like it’s been three _thousand _weeks since she was born, and he’s been awake the entire time. He can’t wipe the haze from his eyes, the sludge oozing around his mind. He makes Regina’s bottle on autopilot, and Charles feeds her with the expertise of three week’s constant practice. Jake counts down the minutes until nap time with the hope all three of them can get a little rest, but Regina conks out on Jake’s chest and refuses to sleep anywhere else.

Charles gives him a pleading look. “Go ahead,” Jake says, resigned. “At least of of us should take advantage.”

“I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment,” Charles says, pressing a kiss to Jake’s lips and gently touching Regina’s hair. “I love our family; I love our family so much.”

“We love you too,” Jake says with a small smile, “now go to sleep!”

Charles pads away and soon the apartment is silent except for the small sounds of Regina breathing in and out, in and out, chest rising and falling, eyes crinkled, cheeks pink. She has a tiny scratch under her left eye and a patch of dry skin near her scalp is flaking away gently. She’s already changed so much in her few short weeks of life; soon she’ll look completely different. He’ll never have this moment back again. Jake closes his eyes. _Remember this, don’t forget this moment, remember, remember, remember_.

…

“You’re a better father than I am,” Jake blurts out, mouth half-full of half-chewed spaghetti, a rare night where Regina is asleep during adult dinner time.

“What?” Charles asks, blankly.

“You’re so _patient_,” Jake says, kind of pathetically, but he’s too tired to care and it’s been slowly eating away at him for weeks now.

“You’re just as patient,” Charles says, slowly, like he’s afraid Jake is going to burst into tears. 

“No, no. I’m just _acting _patient. In my head I’m screaming.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m doing that too.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. Just, constant screaming and cursing and crying. In my head. I’m so _tired _all the time.”

“I… are you serious?”

“She wakes up so _often_, Jakey,” Charles says, slumping low.

“I _know_.”

Charles stands and shuffles around their small table to put his hand in Jake’s hair. “You’re nothing like him,” he says, because he can like, read Jake’s mind or something.

“I know. I know.” And he does. Mostly.

Charles stoops to kiss Jake, soft, almost delicate, but there’s a roaring in Jake’s head at the sight; Charles has bags under his eyes, he has pale gray hairs coming in low around his ears and in his stubble. Jake has never seen him so pale, wan, exhausted.

“You, you’re perfect,” Jake says, haltingly, “I love you, I love you, I want--”

“_Yes_,” Charles says, “yes, yes,” and he drops to his knees, right there on the harsh kitchen tiles, dinner half-eaten on the table, hands at Jake’s belt, trembling. “I wish I could give you everything,” he says.

“You do,” Jake says. “You do.”

…

Jake goes back to work when Regina is eight weeks old. Charles decides to extend his leave, unpaid, and stay at home with her until she’s six months old. They both collapse on the bed in relief when Charles’s request is granted.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Jake says. He knows she’ll be fine in daycare, but…

“We’re so lucky we can afford this,” Charles says.

“We can _almost _afford it,” Jake says, but he’s grinning, so is Charles, and Regina coos from her little bassinet. He puts one hand on her small belly. “You get four more months at home with Papa! I’m jealous!”

“It won’t be the same without Daddy,” Charles says, and they both laugh, then sigh. “We’re really going to miss you.”

“I’m… I’m kinda terrified to leave her. I just can’t stop thinking about everything that could happen. You know she likes it best when I sing her the sunshine song! And do you know how fast you feed her sometimes?”

Charles looks at him, lips twitching. “How will she ever get used to me singing the sunshine song?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Would a distraction help or hurt?”

“Help, always.”

“Good, because Terry’s girls are all visiting tonight!”

“Oh,” Jake says. “Oh, no.”

“If you’re worried about Ava--”

“Because she hates Regina, yes--”

“I talked to her! She’s on board with Regina. Mostly. Well.” Charles hesitates. “She doesn’t hate Regina. She’s a little upset with…”

“You?”

“You! You haven’t seen her once since the baby was born.”

“Yes, I-- oh.”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Jake grinds his palms against his eyes. _A+ god-fathering, Peralta_. “I’ll make it up to her.”

“I know you will,” Charles says gently. “Everyone understands, she’s just very young.”

Jake thinks about the Sarge, dropping in with casseroles and dropping hints about Facetiming the girls. Lynette asking for pictures every day. Amy showing up with a truckload of children’s books. Rosa taking pictures of Regina in little aviator sunglasses.

“Have I… dropped a lot of balls lately?”

“Nope!” Charles says. “I refuse to let you beat yourself up. We have a two-month old daughter. We are making an effort for the girls because they’re small. Our adult friends and family will have to understand that we’re doing the best we can.”

And Jake supposes he’s right. He’s so exhausted at the prospect of returning to work, he can’t even imagine a more active social life. So they order pizza and the girls spend the night. They all coo over Regina, even Ava, and they watch the Lion King. The girls are content, even though Regina fusses the entire movie and spits up on Lacey’s jacket.

“I’m so lucky,” Jake whispers to Charles, which probably means something more like I_’m so happy_ but that one’s not always so easy to say out loud.

…

“Okay,” Jake says when he gets home from work, “We should get you out of the house for a bit. We could take a walk?” 

Charles looks bleary-eyed and there’s an alarming amount of mashed banana on his shirt. And matted into his hair. _Yikes_. “Actually, I could use some alone time,” he says, a little crisply. “A long shower, maybe. Lie down a bit. You know?”

“Yeah,” says Jake, even though he doesn’t, not really. He spends a lot of time at work missing his family, and voluntarily splitting up wasn’t exactly on his agenda for the evening. “I’ll take her to the park.”

Charles nods, whirls away toward the bathroom. Jake stares after him, swallows. Hopes he isn’t messing this up already. Sometimes, when Charles is annoyed, he feels the same twisting in his gut he’d feel when his parents fought. It’s a sick neediness; he hates it.

“Ah-ah-ah,” says Regina, and Jake is relieved; he bundles her up, packs her in the stroller, and they walk to the park, slowly. Watch little boys and girls swing on the swings, try to eat sand. They take slow laps around the paved track surrounding the playground. Regina takes a near-miraculous hour and half to get fussy, and by the time they head back home Jake has been invigorated by the fresh air.

He hugs Charles as soon as he sees him; Charles grins and hugs back, coos over Regina. “I missed you both,” he says, biting his lip. “Sorry about earlier. It’s just--”

“Hard, alone all day. I get it. I should remember. I miss you so much at work, I forget about you dealing with everything on the home front.”

“I don’t think I’m meant to be a stay at home dad,” Charles says, low, and he actually sounds ashamed.

“I can’t even imagine doing it for four months,” Jake says frankly, because he felt a little crazy just during his paternity leave. “I can’t even _imagine_,” he says again, because he needs that look off of Charles’s face, needs him to know there’s nothing wrong with him. “One month, and she starts daycare.”

“One month,” Charles echoes.

“I can try to get her moved up,” Jake offers, though he has doubts about availability at this stage.

“No. No. I’m going to try to enjoy it more. It’s… tough. Not to get lost in the weeds.”

“Would you like to cook something?” Jake asks. “I can take baby duty, you can focus, try something new.”

“_Yes_,” Charles says, lighting up, and it’s pretty much the only thing that can make Jake’s inevitable dinner of elk tail or squirrel liver worth it.

…

Regina starts cruising around the apartment at nine months old. Jake is surprisingly weepy at the sight, and Charles takes his hand, thumbs away his tears without comment. 

“My _baby_,” Jake says, and he sounds just like his mother, just like his grandmother, just like every aunt he’s ever met. Regina grins up at him, devilish, and then laughs hysterically at Sesame Street on the television. He scoops her up, presses his face into her tiny belly. “Stop growing,” he commands. “Stay baby!”

“Da da da da da,” says Regina.

“Papa, papa,” coaxes Charles.

“Da da da da.”

Jake grins, says, “We could-- maybe.” He stops.

“What?” asks Charles.

“I talked to the Captain today. We, uh, talked about me maybe taking a little more responsibility at work.”

“Jake, you hate taking responsibility at work. You literally told me once that responsibility is the worst part of work.”

“But responsibility comes with more money! We could-- what would you think about having another one, someday?”

Charles frowns. “Another. Another baby?”

It’s a vice-grip around Jake’s heart. As if he hadn’t realized how much he wanted another until seeing that little frown on Charles’s face. He takes a deep breath. Exhales. Gives a small smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want that,” he says, because it’s true, it’s true no matter how much it hurts.

“You want another kid?” Charles asks, almost disbelieving, eyes wide, still frowning.

Jake swallows. “I do. But if you… don’t. I understand.”

“I do,” Charles says, quickly, coming to life, swinging his arms around Jake’s neck, crushing little Regina between them. “Yeah, I do, Jakey, didn’t think you would. Never let myself think of it.”

Jake presses kisses all over Charles’s face, stoops low to do the same to Regina. “Do you want a little brother or sister?”

“Da da da da,” she says.

…

Captain Holt hosts Regina’s first birthday party. “Congratulations on developing at a rate consistent with your peers,” he toasts solemnly, as Regina covers her whole face in birthday cake.

Jake, Rosa, and Gina are wine drunk, swaying to some impenetrable classical music from Captain Holt’s record player. Jake watches Charles and Lynette refresh a ridiculous amount of cheese platters and hover over Regina while Amy reads Winnie the Pooh out loud to Terry’s girls and all the Boyle kids.

“You look happy,” says Gina, uncharacteristically soft into Jake’s ear. “You nerd.”

He laughs. Lets the warmth of his entire family in one room seep into him, seep right through him. Lets himself believe in it. Lets himself believe he deserves it. “I am. I am.”


End file.
